


The Guardian

by Jaded_From_Life



Series: Every family has issues [2]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Family Drama, Family Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 14:02:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15996704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaded_From_Life/pseuds/Jaded_From_Life
Summary: Donald awoke, tired and restless, to the sounds of sloshing water. The houseboat rocked rhythmically like a steady heartbeat, but it was a calm rhythm. In fact, it was too calm.Sleep had evaded him once more.





	The Guardian

**Author's Note:**

> This one's for Donald Duck, as I'm sure you're already aware. Once again, tell me what you think. Feedback fuels improvement!

Donald awoke, tired and restless, to the sounds of sloshing water. The houseboat rocked rhythmically like a steady heartbeat, but it was a calm rhythm. In fact, it was _too_ calm.

Sleep had evaded him once more.

Grumbling, Donald rose from his bed and exited his room. Nothing within the houseboat stirred; no creaking, no snores, no voices.

Donald frowned. It was too quiet.

Rubbing his eyes, he made his way to the boys’ room to check up on them. He knew better than to think that just because he couldn’t hear anything, it doesn’t mean the boys weren’t up and about, and Donald is going to make sure the boys are back in bed. They need the extra hours of sleep to stay healthy, after all.

As he stood by the door that led to the boys’ room, he knocked on the door. “Boys?” he called out.

No answer. They’re likely awake; Donald could just imagine their shocked faces the moment he walked in to whatever it was they’re doing.

Donald opened the door, expecting to be nearly blinded by an open light before his eyes would adjust and he would see the boys all huddled together and staring at him in shock.

He was met by the sight of a darkened room and no triplets inside. The bed that the boys shared remained untouched, and the room did not have the telltale signs of the triplet’s presence.

Donald’s brow furrowed. Where could...?

 _Right,_ Donald grumbled, the facts finally coming back to him. _They’re in the mansion now._

He really needed to get used to that.

Donald closed the door before turning around and walking outside the houseboat. As he stepped outside, he looked up, seeing the night sky with all its twinkling stars. It was still night out.

Leaning over the edge of the boat, Donald stared at his reflection from the water below blankly. He could see the dark bags forming under his eyes, his feathers were ruffled messily, and his face was overall masked by tiredness like a second skin.

Donald Duck wasn’t an insomniac by any means (only sleepless nights that he hoped were fixed by large amounts of caffeine in the morning after breakfast), but ever since he and the boys had moved into the mansion, he found that sleep rarely came to him as easily as it did back then.

 _It’s the change in scenery_ , Donald thought to himself. Instead of the ocean, it was the small pool of the McDuck manor (honestly, he expected it to be bigger); instead of the steady rocking of the waves, it was just ripples; and instead of snores from the three occupants that had lived here, only silence accompanied him.

And silence never made for good company in his eyes. Not when it let his mind wander around, stumbling through random thoughts and sometimes going back to his—

 _Nope_ , Donald shook his head, mentally beating the thought out of his head. _Not thinking about it._

Donald sighed tiredly, making his way off the houseboat and into the mansion of Uncle— _Scrooge McDuck._

That man will never be _‘Uncle Scrooge’_ , even in his own thoughts. Never again.

** ~0~ **

_Cereals, meat, vegetables and fruits, but no milk,_ Donald grumbled, riffling through the contents of the kitchen fridge. _You’d think a rich man like him would have at least one carton of milk._

“Donald?”

Donald yelped, his body straightening up and tensing. He snapped his head towards the source of the voice—Scrooge, the owner of the mansion, and currently standing by the doorway. “Oh. It’s just you,” he said almost resentfully, eyes narrowing at the man.

“Aye, just me lad.”

Donald turned away, resuming his search within the fridge. He eventually found it at the far back (why it was there, he had neither a clue nor any desire to find out). He took it out, closing the fridge and making his way to the cupboard.

“Up so early, lad?”

Donald paid the man no heed, grabbing a glass and making his way to the table, pushing past his uncle before plopping himself down on the chair. He poured his glass to the brim, staring at the liquid for a moment before downing it in one go.

In the corner of his eye, Donald watched as Scrooge took a seat beside him, watching him with equally tired eyes. He must’ve been unable to sleep too.

 _Good_ , Donald thought, though he took no satisfaction in it.

“Can’t sleep?” Scrooge asked, hands clasped together and simply looking at him with tired eyes.

“Not used to the new environment.” Donald answered, wiping off excess milk from his beak. “You?” He didn’t really care, of course, but he might as well inquire.

“Eh. Just one of _those_ nights,” Scrooge replied with a shrug.

The two of them sat in silence, neither willing to start a conversation with each other. Donald continued to fill his glass, often alternating from slowly drinking it to greedily quick, and Scrooge simply sat there without a word.

Scrooge decided to speak first.

“So, how were you these past ten years? Doing well enough, I suppose?” Scrooge asked. “I mean, as well as you could raising your nephews by yourself, not that I think you were inca—”

“Stop,” Donald placed his glass down on the table, perhaps a bit too strongly than he had wanted. “I’m tired, I can’t sleep, and I still don’t like you being near me or the boys. If you keep talking, I might say something I might regret.”

God knows how he had a lot of things to regret.

(Except the boys. _Never_ the boys.)

Donald stood up from his chair and started to walk away, back to his houseboat to once again try and sleep.

“Della would’ve been proud of them.”

Donald froze, caught off-guard by Scrooge’s proclamation.

_How dare he?_

As quick as it came, the shock wore off, and in its place came the feeling of hot bubbling anger rising from the pit of his stomach, his head beating harder, and his hands trembling with unbridled fury.

_How dare he?_

He opened his beak to speak, but he hastily swallowed down the baleful words before they could escape him. No, not now; not when the boys might hear them.

_How dare he?_

“Well, she’s not here now, isn’t she?” Donald spat. “And I’m here to make sure they don’t follow her down to the very last footstep.”

“Lad, I—”

But Donald wasn’t listening; he had already walked away, content to simply leave the man who led his sister to her untimely demise behind. He had nothing more to say (at least, none that weren’t words of anger).

Had Donald looked back, he would’ve seen Scrooge reaching out a hand for him, his eyes filled with hurt and begging him to wait.

But Donald didn’t look back.

_How dare he?_

When he left the mansion and retreated back to his houseboat, only the stars could witness the tears falling from Donald’s eyes, only the wind to hear his mournful cries.


End file.
